


The Darkest Night

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Series: Get Us Through the Night [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Strong Profanity, dark!fic, future season 9 fic, mild Destiel, non-con, spoilers for all episodes in season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever felt an infant’s blood drip down your chin, or listened to a girl scream, as you rip her guts out?"</p><p>He never thought that she would keep her word. He should have known better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkest Night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. I really wish I did, but nope. Kripke is the one who created these amazing characters.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: Still going with the exam stress. This came out in a span of like four hours and is unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Happy New Year, and hope everyone had a fantastic Christmas!

 

**The Darkest Night**

**_Have you ever felt an infant's blood drip down your chin?_ **

The bloodcurdling screams tear at his eardrums as he lifts the little bundle into his arms. Sympathy and guilt hammer at heart and he watches the tiny arms and legs of the baby while they flail and kick uselessly at the air.

_Don't make me do this._

**Oh, you are doing it, sweetheart.**

_Please._

**You're begging? That's adorable.**

The baby bawls louder, eyes scrunched shut, tears pouring thick and fast. Its face is red, and it reminds him of Sam on that night when he carried him out of their house in Lawrence.

The infant knows, somehow, that it's in danger. He wants to put it back in its cot and run away. He wants to fight  _her_. He wants to kill  _her_.

There's a roaring sound in his head at the thought.

**Oh, my, I'd love to see you try.**

And he tries. He tries to stop himself, but fails when his mouth opens, and his body bends over, one hand snapping the onesie open. His hand slides up the thick, soft cloth, revealing the infant's abdomen. The baby screams harder, a soft little hand brushing against the side of his face, and his heart bleeds.

 _She_  laughs, and lets out a hungry hum.

**The stomach and guts are always the tastiest… so soft.**

He feels himself bend further, and the baby lets out a last, loud wail. And then he mercifully blacks out.

 

**~o~**

**_Have you listened to a girl scream, as you rip her guts out?_ **

She's young — maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, and she's not the first one. It's been a few months, and the mutilated infants and battered girls are all over the news — except, no one knows who the culprit is. There are no clues for the police. The crimes are too thorough.

He sees the girl at the bar as his hands force glass-upon-glass of whiskey down his gullet, making his thoughts blur. He remembers her name too — Alicia, and he tries to warn her, but his mouth doesn't work in his favour.

He is never strong enough to suppress  _her_  even for a moment. He has tried, several times, only with bad consequences —  **how about we drain an extra baby today, Dean, in celebration of your efforts?**

He has given up. He just hopes to die. Oh, please let me die soon.

 _Or_ , says a small voice — his real conscience —  _Sammy or Cas…_

**Oh, they can try, Dean. And then you can watch yourself murder your brother and rape your boyfriend. Or should we do it the other way round?**

_Fuck you._

**Sure.**

The girl — Alicia, comes to his room with him, and his lips are on hers, while his hands rip off her garments. When they're both naked,  _she_  makes him sit down on the bed while putting his arms around Alicia and pulling her onto his lap. His hands then find her hip and move to her belly button before plunging suddenly into her abdomen, nails breaking soft skin, tearing through her flesh and her peritoneum, until he can feel the coils of her small intestine.

Alicia doesn't even have time to scream before she dies, bleeding all over the bed, the floor, and his naked body.

Two of his fingers dip into the blood and dab it along his tongue.

 

**~o~**

**Let's try something new today. How about we stop violating others, and get violated ourselves? I've never tried that. Have you? Oh… I forgot. You're already being violated.**

_Bitch._

**My favourite nickname.**

He tries to pass out. He doesn't want to stay awake for whatever this new horror is going to be.

 _She_  doesn't let him sleep. She makes him watch every move as she takes him to a seedy motel room, where a man awaits them.

"I've been waiting for you," he says, eyes blackening as they enter.

"I'm all yours," Dean's lips reply. His hands peel off his jacket and throw it on the bed. "Go on."

"I've wanted this for so long," the demon murmurs, coming forward, and touching Dean's cheek. "Hot piece of Winchester ass."

"You have it." Dean's eyebrows are raised suggestively, before eager hands start to rip off his clothes.

 

**~o~**

He is passed out for two days after that. The agony and grief don't let him remain awake, and he's pathetically thankful to having the ability to still black out. That's the only thing which is somewhat under his control. However, amnesia is not a luxury that he has. He remembers the incident — remembers being raped — clear as crystal, and when he wakes up he wants to curl up and lie in one position until he dies, but  _she_  doesn't let him die.

**I can't make this so easy for you, Dean-o.**

He passes out again, nonetheless.

 

**~o~**

"I'll kill you! Let him go!"

The voice sounds so familiar, Dean is sure he's in heaven.

"You can't kill me without killing him, Sam, so I'd really love to see you try."

Dean's consciousness floats back and when he sees through his already-open eyes he's even surer that he's in Heaven.

_Sammy._

Sam towers over him, knife and incantation book in hand, and his face carries rage that Dean hasn't seen more than a couple of times his whole life. Dean's body is tied to a chair over a Devil's Trap, in what looks like a deserted cabin. He's dreamed about this for months,  _months_ , and it's only remained a dream, so he's sure that this can only be happening because he's in Heaven now.

He's dead.  _Finally_.

"Oh _, tch tch_ ," his lips say suddenly, "big brother thinks he's in Heaven! How touching!"

Sam's eyes rush to meet his, expression changing from rage to relief, sorrow and guilt, and his eyes widen, moistening up as he takes a step forward. "Dean?" he calls out in a tight voice.

_Sammy._

"He's just an audience, Sam,"  _she_  replies, "And he's going to watch while — what was our agreement, Dean? Rape the brother, murder the boyfriend, or the other way round?"

_Sammy, get me out of here, man. Kill me; kill her — I don't care. Please._

"Dean, hold on, okay?" Sam says desperately, ignoring  _her_  words. "We've got her."

"Oh, are you going to exorcise me, Sammy boy? Are you sure your brother's going to stay alive after I leave?"

Sam's eyes dart between Dean, and the trap that holds his possessed body as he blinks back the wetness in his eyes. "He'd rather die than have you inside him."

A choice Sam never had, Dean remembers. He never let Sam decide whether he wanted to live or die — instead, he took the decision for his brother, manipulated Sam, and let Gadreel take over.

That was months ago and even though Sam has forgiven Dean, Dean hasn't forgiven himself. And even now, Sam is doing for Dean, what Dean should have done for Sam.  _Letting him free._

"Your brother's a pathetic mess, you know that?"  _she_  says to Sam, who is now hesitant. "It's a sob story up here — breaking your trust, manipulating you, making decisions for you… blah blah fucking blah… you two have more issues than a married couple in therapy."

Sam's nostrils flare. "He did what he thought was best for me," he replies. "He was trying to save my life."

 _I'm sorry, Sammy_.

Dean's lips spread into a wide smile. "Aren't you two adorable? Go on, then, since you're so sure what Dean wants, exorcise me."

"We won't exorcise you," another familiar voice replies at that, and Dean's head jerks to look at the doorway, where he sees him.

Blue eyes blazing and trenchcoat billowing in the wind outside, Castiel stands at the doorway. His face has fury written all over it and Dean hasn’t seen him this way either — not since the days of the Apocalypse. “We’re going to kill you, and you will never hurt Dean again,” Castiel finishes. “I found it,” he says again to Sam, who nods gratefully.  
  
 _Cas_.  
  
Dean wants to get out of the chair just now. He wants to hug Sam tight, and then hold Cas to him, sink into the warmth of his embrace.  
  
“Well, you can  _try_  to kill me,”  _she_  tells Castiel, shrugging Dean’s shoulders. “Let’s see how you do that without an archangel’s help, but hey, no pressure.”  
  
Castiel ignores her comment and extracts a book from the inner pocket of his trenchcoat — a tiny, worn book. He opens it, and Dean’s eyes widen.   
  
“What is that?” she asks, and Dean knows she’s scared. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Killing you,” Castiel replies in an even voice. He opens the book and starts chanting — a stream of fluent Enochian pouring out of his mouth as he walks ahead, his usually low, gravelly voice strong and loud today. The shards of glass that are still intact on the cabin’s windows shatter into tinier bits and a strong wind blows in, its wailing growing louder and louder while Castiel’s trenchcoat billows with it.  
  
Dean hears her scream and feels tight, constricting pain as she holds on. It feels like an electric current is passing through him, sending goosebumps through his body. His palms are heating up and his chest is agony. An involuntary laugh escapes his mouth. Just then, there is a flash of lightning outside followed by thunder, and it’s like something exploding out of his chest… like smithereens of her are collecting one-by-one to escape… and he knows she’s dying.  
  
This is it. It ends here. He will either die with her, or he’ll be free again. Either ways, it’s a win, and there’s nothing he wants more.   
  
He watches Castiel recite, eyes growing wide like Sam’s as Dean’s mouth opens in a scream and his body seizes up. And with a last howl inside his head, he feels her leave.   
  
He feels her die.  
  
 **~o~**  
  
“Dean!”   
  
Sam and Castiel rush to his side, Sam extracting a knife to undo the bounds, while Castiel grasps Dean’s face and plants his mouth firmly on his lips. Dean whimpers at that, remembering another set of lips just a few days ago, kissing him harshly against his will and he pulls away, watching the bewilderment in Castiel’s eyes as he does it.  
  
His hands come free a few seconds later and he immediately wraps them around Castiel’s waist and puts his head on the angel’s shoulder, tears spilling out of his eyes as his breath starts to shudder, and he’s trembling so hard, Castiel has to hold him tighter. The angel pulls back after a minute and looks at Dean’s face, shocked. He puts a gentle hand to Dean’s cheek, brushing away the tears, while another runs affectionately through Dean’s hair. Then he bends over again and kisses Dean’s forehead, just as Sam emerges from untying Dean’s feet.  
  
“Hey, Dean,” his sibling greets him as Castiel stands aside. A smile spreads across Sam’s weary features. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in days. His hair is dishevelled and purple bags decorate the area around his eyes.   
  
Without warning, Sam’s hands are around Dean as he crushes him in a hug.  
  
“S-Sa—” A hacking cough escapes Dean’s lips, bringing a coppery tang into his mouth. And then he coughs again, and again, listening to Sam mutter words of comfort into his ears and continue to hug him as the fit tears at his weary body. He coughs up more blood and finally, mercifully, it stops and when his vision clears, he can see strings of blood hanging out of his mouth. He raises a trembling hand to wipe it off, just as Sam lets go of him. “Y’okay?” Dean asks him hoarsely.  
  
“Shut up, you fucking idiot,” Sam says tightly, wiping suspiciously at his eyes. “Now let’s get you out of here.”  
  
“No. Wanna s-sleep.”  
  
“In the car, Dean, you—”  
  
“Sorry, S-Sammy…”  
  
Blackness pulls at the corners of Dean’s vision and he can feel himself slipping away, but he looks into Castiel’s eyes one last time, and then at Sam, watching twin expressions of horror appear on their faces as they understand what he means.  
  
“Thanks, g-guys…” his voice trails off, already weak and shaky as the darkness beckons to him, despite their pleadings. They slide to their knees beside him, shaking him, supporting him and trying to get him off the chair.  
  
The last thing he feels after that is Sam trying to haul him up in a fireman’s carry with the help of Castiel. He wants to tell Cas that he’s sorry — that he cares for both of them, and he knows they’ll do fine without him. He wants to tell them not to try too hard saving someone who’s not worth saving.  
  
But they can’t save him anyway, so he’s not worried.  
  
With that he succumbs to the welcoming void, knowing then, that he’s finally free.

**—**

_Parting is such sweet sorrow,_

_that I shall say good night till it be morrow._

_William Shakespeare_

 

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more in this ‘verse. Keep your eyes peeled! :)


End file.
